The bartender sighs as she shakes Kealhsa's hand and says with disappointment, [color=f6989d]"I suppose we'll have to wait for another time to get to know each other. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time after you finish conducting business."[/color] Lucia returns her attention to her duties behind the bar, polishing flagons, refilling the small refreshment bowls, and replacing the empty barrels of wine and ale. Though her back is turned, it's clear from Lucia's body language that she's ready to serve any who approach.

Arrigal takes another lengthy draught from his flask while looking Kealsha up and down as he tries to size her up. Though he can't quite guess her specialty from this first glance, the Vistani man sees a glint of determination in the tiefling's eyes that is rewarded with a slight nod of approval. Jerking his head toward a moonlit booth in a secluded corner of the tavern, Arrigal says politely, [color=f6989d]"For the sake of the concerned parents gathered here, I'd prefer we discuss specific details privately."[/color] He gives Gawzarth a grin and says, [color=f6989d]"I'm sorry to pull you away from the fire, but this conversation shouldn't take long and the Champagne can keep you warm enough for the interim."[/color]

Arrigal relocates to the aforementioned booth where he lights a pipe made of a dark crimson wood and makes himself comfortable. He buries himself into the intersection of the booth and the wall and begins smoking lazily. The light of the full moon illuminates the smoke curling toward the ceiling as the howl of a distant wolf reminds you of the dangers prowling the night.


While Roxy is checking the perimeter of the tavern for traps and other hidden hazards, she'd notice a strange mist creeping in from the edges of the village. The mist stays low to the ground as it winds its way between the poorly constructed homes, but its spread is far from natural. Rather than obeying the whims of the evening breeze or spreading uniformly, the mist seems to extend long, snaking tendrils that are then followed by bulging masses of the fog. The tendrils of mist seem to move intelligently, searching out sources of heat: scattered torches, the heat escaping from beneath doors, even a scrawny dog picking through refuse in hopes of a meal. It was toward the dog that the mist moved most quickly. With tendrils snaking out like ghostly lightning, the mist envelops the dog so quickly all it can do is yelp once. When the mist once again levels out, no sign of the dog remains...